Netherfield Park Revisited (36 page)

At which, she laughed merrily.

“Jealous of Monsieur Du Pont! For shame, Jonathan, surely you do not mean to attribute such motives to him as should make you jealous? Why I had thought he was merely being very generous. Madame Roussard, his companion and patron, owns the gallery where the exhibition is to be held and they were kind enough to invite me to participate, that was all,” she explained.

“And that was all?” he quizzed, looking a little sceptical.

“Indeed it was. Oh Jonathan, you are not going to be old-fashioned and imagine that every man who speaks with me or praises my painting is in love with me, are you?”

This time, his riposte was more audacious.

“I don't believe it would worry me at all, if he was. But if I thought his affection was returned, now that would make me very jealous indeed,” he declared. She blushed, rose, and went to the window, looking out over the garden, returning only after she had composed her face.

Changing the subject as she sat down beside him, she said, “I have had a letter from your sister Mrs Wilson. She has very kindly invited me to stay at Standish Park for a few weeks before Easter.”

He looked pleased.

“Will you accept?” he asked, a little anxiously.

She was thoughtful before replying.

“I think I shall. Mama and Papa go to Ramsgate for a fortnight fairly soon; I thought I might travel with them as far as Canterbury and take the coach to Standish Park. My maid Sally could travel with me.”

“An excellent idea,” said Jonathan, letting her see how pleased he was.

“As it happens, I have to be in London next week on Parliamentary business. If you would inform me of the dates and times of your journey, I could arrange to accompany you from Canterbury to Standish Park.”

He was happy to see she seemed to find the prospect agreeable and, promising to call again to see her parents, he rose to leave.

As he kissed her hand, he could not resist one last gentle jest.

“And you are quite certain, Anna, that you would not prefer to be in Paris, instead? Not even the boulevardes in springtime can tempt you?”

She smiled as she expressed her exasperation with him, declaring that if he continued to tease her, she may well decide to travel to Dover instead of Canterbury and catch the packet boat to France, after all!

Feigning terror at her threat, he begged her forgiveness and beat a hasty retreat, leaving her laughing.

No sooner had he left than Anna sat down at her desk and wrote to Mrs Wilson, thanking her for the invitation and accepting it with pleasure. All her dealings with Emma Wilson had been exceedingly agreeable and she was certain this visit would be no different. She had just sealed it and was about to send it to the post, when her parents returned from Lucas Lodge.

Soon afterwards, her father called her in to his study, saying, “Anna, my dear, I am about to reply to a letter which I received last week, one which has pleasantly surprised me. I should like a word with you before I do.”

Anna, who knew that Jonathan Bingley had intended to write to her father, applying for his consent to marry her, was not unduly concerned. She was, however, more intrigued by her father's claim to have been pleasantly surprised by the contents of the letter.

The pleasure apparently derived from the fact that Mr Bingley, a man of excellent character and reputation, and a member of a highly respected family, wished to marry his daughter.

“We all know him to be a man of intelligence and principle, and though I had not suspected any deep attachment between you, your mother claims she has known of it for some time. Is this true, my dear?” he asked, to which Anna replied that she had only recently become aware that his partiality towards her had involved a proposal of marriage.

Her father continued, “That brings me to the reason for my feelings of surprise, indeed one might almost say astonishment. You see, Anna, Mr Bingley, who is a man of considerable fortune, requests your hand, but seeks no marriage settlement of any kind. Rather, he proposes to settle upon you, when you are his wife, ‘a sum sufficient to ensure her independence and comfort in the years to come, should some untoward occurrence bring about my early death or disability.'” He was reading from the letter before him.

An anguished cry escaped her lips, “Papa! pray do not go on.”

Her father was immediately solicitous.

“Come now, my dear, there is no cause for alarm; he is merely being cautious and sensible. He needs to be, being several years older than you are. Do not upset yourself, my child, he simply wishes to assure me that you will want for nothing, even if he should …”

“Papa, please, do not repeat it. It has never occurred to me, and I do not wish to contemplate it. Why, Colonel Fitzwilliam is almost twenty years older than Caroline and he is perfectly well. Why should we even consider that it will be different with Jonathan?”

Dr Faulkner was smiling when he spoke.

“Ah, I see. Then, may I assume that you wish me to write to him giving my consent?” he asked, a distinctly humorous note in his voice.

But she was not to be so easily led. She asked, “Have you any objection, Papa?”

“None at all; it is by any measure an excellent proposal. I should be proud to have him for a son-in-law and, if you were to tell me you love him, I shall be delighted to give my consent.”

“On that matter, may I ask what he says in his letter?” she asked.

Her father sounded sceptical.

“Anna, you do not expect me to believe that you are unaware of the nature of his feelings? I know, you merely want the satisfaction of seeing written down what he has already told you. You modern young women are very particular, you want to be quite certain. I do not blame you, but I am sure we can believe Mr Bingley when he says … wait, let me read it to you.”

He read from Jonathan's letter, “‘I can assure you, Sir, that the love I feel for Anna is deep and sincere, and I faithfully promise to do everything in my power to make her truly happy.' There, I think, Anna, we can assume he loves you dearly; the question is, do you want to marry him?”

When there was no immediate response, he seemed anxious.

“Why do you hesitate, Anna? Is something amiss? Is it because he is a widower and there are children to consider?” he looked at her, searching for an answer.

She replied at once, denying she had any such reservations.

“Oh no, Papa, not at all. I am truly honoured that Mr Bingley, whom I admire and respect, should wish to marry me. I have no reason to refuse him, but have asked only that I be permitted a little time to consider his offer and give him my answer.”

Her father, though a little puzzled, agreed that it was a fair request.

“Very well,” he said, “I shall tell him that your mother and I have no objection, indeed we are happy to agree to his proposal, but he must obtain your consent himself. When he has, he can count on our blessing. How will that do, my dear?”

Anna rose and embraced her father.

“Thank you, Papa, that will do very well,” she said.

Later, in the privacy of her bedroom, she thought about the generosity and concern reflected in Jonathan Bingley's offer, which her father, a practical man, had seen as a sensible arrangement. While even the thought of his death brought tears to her eyes, it had also served to force the realisation that he meant a great deal to her. She was very close to acknowledging that life without him would be impossible to contemplate.

Jonathan Bingley called again that week, but while his visit was pleasant and friendly, it was also short, for he came to say that his brother-in-law Mr Wilson had summoned him to Westminster for a vital meeting. Unhappily, this would mean that he could not dine with them on the Sunday, as previously arranged. Mrs Faulkner, who had hoped to ask her sister Charlotte Collins to join them, was very disappointed.

Anna was curious to know when they would see him again, and if he would give her any indication of his plans. Did he expect to spend most of the Summer in Hertfordshire or in London, she wondered.

She received a part of the answer when he took the time to indicate to her that he had had a reply from her father to his letter. He gave her no details, but from the expression on his face and the tone of his voice, she was able to deduce that he was certainly not unhappy with the response.

Earlier, she had heard him thank her father for his letter. While she had not wished to appear as if she was eavesdropping on their conversation, she had lingered long enough to hear her father wish him success and warmly shake his hand.

Before he left, he had made a note of the dates for their journey to Ramsgate and had settled upon the place and time for their meeting in Canterbury.

He was clearly reluctant to leave, delaying his departure until the last possible moment, accepting a final cup of tea and standing in the hallway with Anna, drawing out their farewell for several minutes.

When he was gone, her parents heard her go slowly up the stairs to her room. She was never dismal, but it was quite clear that she was sad to see him go.

***

As the days passed, Anna, though she did not permit herself to be overcome with melancholy—it was not in her nature to do so—began to miss him. Increasingly, she had realised she had come to rely upon him to stimulate her interest in a whole range of new ideas. Without the expectation of his company, her days seemed endless and dull.

It was fortuitous that the time fixed for her parents' holiday was fast approaching and with it the day of her departure for Standish Park. Her mother had agreed to let their maid Sally travel with her, and the next few days were filled with the excitement of preparing for their journey.

On their way to Ramsgate, Dr Faulkner and his family stayed with his brother in London. The main attraction of this arrangement to Anna was the close proximity of her uncle's house to the Royal Academy's Exhibition centre, whither she would go, while her parents and their hosts spent their time in Bond Street or the shops of the Burlington Arcade.

They took time also to attend one of the popular readings by Charles Dickens and, while Anna and her father were delighted with Mr Dickens and enjoyed the performance, her mother did not at all, declaring in a loud whisper that she had heard so much gossip about Mr Dickens and his mistress, she wondered that he found time to write at all!

Soon afterwards, they left London and journeyed on to Canterbury, where they had rooms reserved for the night at the Bell, an excellent hostelry recommended to them by Mrs Wilson, who had written to Anna to confirm their arrangements.

You should find it very convenient and comfortable,
she had said,

…the landlord is well known to James, so please feel free to mention his name and they will know you are friends of ours. We have stayed there on several occasions and have been very happy with the service.

Mr Wilson and my brother Jonathan will be returning from London and expect to meet up with you at the Bell.

Adding a personal note, she wrote,

Dear Anna, I am looking forward very much to your visit. It seems such a long while since we have spoken. I do hope you are bringing your brushes and paints, for there are a myriad sights and scenes in the park and the woods which you will surely want to paint.

Since reading her letter, Anna had been impatient to be gone to Kent. Jonathan had left for Westminster, and life in Hertfordshire, since his departure, had seemed flat and uneventful.

The Bell, which was situated a mile or two outside the town, turned out to be much more than a place which afforded rest and food to the traveller and a stable to feed and water the horses.

It was an impressive institution housed in a handsome Georgian building, set back from the main Canterbury road, with gracious interiors and comfortable rooms.

Dr and Mrs Faulkner and Anna were shown into a large, well-furnished parlour, where a fire burning in the grate and a table laid for tea welcomed the travellers. Here, they waited for Mr Wilson and Jonathan Bingley who, the landlord assured them, were expected within the hour.

They arrived as arranged and met with the Faulkners before repairing to their rooms to change for dinner. Jonathan, who had missed Anna terribly, searched her face for some indication that she had been likewise afflicted. Unfortunately, she was so pleased to see him that her countenance revealed no more than her present satisfaction, and he was almost disappointed. However, as they were waiting to go in to dinner, he approached her and asked how she had spent the past two weeks.

“Very impatiently,” she replied. “I have rarely felt so restless, I must confess, and I was never keener to set off on a journey anywhere. Indeed, I could not wait to leave.”

Encouraged by this declaration, he asked in a quiet voice, “May I be so bold as to ask if my absence from Hertfordshire contributed in some small way to those feelings?”

She smiled and turned to look out at the garden, so her reply would not carry to the others in the room.

“You may, Jonathan, and I shall answer you truthfully. I missed you very much and longed for your company, for I have had little pleasure in any conversation these last two weeks. I am very happy to see you again.”

Since he was at least a foot taller than she was, his face, which reflected the delight with which he received these words, was not visible to her as they stood together by the window. Had it been, she would surely have seen how deeply her words had moved him.

When they went in to dinner, he moved without hesitation to sit beside her. While James Wilson ventured into a political discussion with Dr Faulkner, and Mrs Faulkner concentrated upon the excellent meal, for most of the time Jonathan and Anna were left to themselves.

It was during this time that he, aware there would be little opportunity for private conversation on the drive to Standish Park, decided to return to the response he had received from her father to his proposal.